Ask a shadow to dance, p.1
Ask a Shadow to Dance, page 1
Ask A Shadow to Dance
By
Linda George
Copyright © 2005 by Linda George
First Edition
Published by Five Star Expressions in conjunction with Tekno Books.
Copyright © 2013 by Linda George/George Enterprises
Published in e-book format for Amazon Kindle
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.
Dedication
For Chuck, with all my love.
Acknowledgments
In 1993, I came across a news article about a riverboat that left Memphis, then disappeared without a trace. A lover of time-travel, I immediately wondered what it would be like to see my own name on the list of passengers who disappeared—along with the name of someone I loved.
A month later, I flew to Memphis to research this novel, and returned in the spring to finish that research. I found the people of Memphis friendly and willing to help in any way to make this story as accurate as possible—on the trolleys, in Sleep Out Louie’s, in the museums, and especially at the Memphis Queen Riverboats. Captain Dale Lozier and her excellent crew answered dozens of questions for me and helped me learn about navigating the Mississippi and how things run on a riverboat. Any deviations from what they told me were made in favor of the story, and not because I wasn’t listening.
Many thanks to everyone at the Memphis Queen Riverboat Line who contributed valuable information and tidbits, and also to those at the Peabody Hotel who were pleased to have another author feature the grand old lady in a novel. The ducks were less enthusiastic and said, “Quack.”
Thanks, also, to Phyllis Peterson at the Mallory-Neeley House for the wonderful photographs of the furnishings, and for allowing me to wander around and get to know this incredible house and use it as the model for the Morgan home in this book.
And, thanks to the kind man on the trolley who saw me writing in a notebook, asked if I was a student, then, hearing I was writing about Memphis, asked, “How can I help?” Everyone in Memphis was just as eager to help, and the details in this book are my thanks to them.
Thanks, also, to my family and friends who supported me through the writing of this book and for encouraging me to wait for exactly the right time to publish it. I love and appreciate all of you.
Chapter One
Saturday, November 14
There. In the shadows.
She stood just out of the soft glow of the tiny white lights laced among the rose filigree cornices throughout the room. David Stewart took a step closer. No one. Had he only imagined the black dress and dark hair, draped with a veil?
“Uncle David, I’m going to get some punch.”
He nodded to his niece, Marilu, then glanced around the room. The second deck of the Memphis Queen III had been transformed into the perfect setting for the gala ball. Parents, sponsors and young people clustered near the refreshment tables, near the orchestra and at private tables all around the narrow dance floor. The ladies dressed in keeping with the Victorian theme made it easy to imagine being in the late eighteen hundreds. Their elaborate ball gowns swept the floor and gave them the illusion of gliding rather than dancing.
Once again. In the shadows.
He could see her better now. She stood near the far exit, alone, dressed completely in black, from the tip of her chin to her toes. The black veil had slipped to her shoulders. Lights reflecting in her hair revealed auburn highlights, running to spun copper. He hadn’t imagined her after all. She seemed confused, retreating farther into the shadows, then completely out of sight.
David skirted the room, hurrying to where she’d disappeared. She must have gone outside onto the landing. He pulled the door open and stepped into the cool, moist breeze, rich with the clean mud smell of the river. The constant vibration of diesel engines turning the huge red paddlewheel at the stern made it easy to get lost in the rhythmic tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck of the paddles dipping into the Mississippi, propelling the boat north along the Tennessee side of the river. A thick cloud-cover reflecting the lights of downtown Memphis and, on the opposite bank, the distant lights of West Memphis, gave the river an eerie glow. The north wind swept briskly over the bow.
A narrow metal staircase led onto the third level. He hurried up the steps. Open bow to stern, with the pilothouse above the center section, the deck was rimmed by a metal railing. No one else braved the wind. He wandered toward the stern, feeling the engine vibration more and more as he neared the giant wheel. The splashing of the paddlewheel complemented the November evening.
Heading back toward the bow, David pulled at his tight, fancy collar, feeling slightly disoriented. A chill played along his spine.
She stood silhouetted at the far end of the deck, where no one had been standing before. He took a step closer. She gazed at the river with a wistful smile. The full moon cast a magical glow on everything, kissing the river with silver, bathing her face and shoulders in tremulous beauty.
“Excuse me, Miss . . .”
She whirled around, her eyes wide. Haloed by moonlight, errant strands of auburn hair danced about her face. The veil draped over her shoulders, fluttering in the breeze.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. But, inside, you seemed . . . lost . . . or upset. May I help?”
She relaxed somewhat, touching her fingertips to her slender throat. Her breasts rose and fell with quickened breaths.
“I . . . we haven’t been formally introduced, Sir.”
“I’m David Stewart, a doctor here in Memphis. And you are—”
“Lisette . . . Morgan. I, too, am from Memphis. Have you been there long?”
“All my life.” As they spoke, his heart pounded. Her voice was elegantly southern. Her skin, gossamer and translucent, appeared so delicate a mere touch might bruise her. He guessed her age at late-twenties, yet something about her suggested maturity beyond so few years.
“You’re staring, sir.”
“Sorry. I’m wishing we’d met before.”
She pointed toward the bridge. “I’m wondering about those lights.”
He went to the rail and stood beside her. The pulse throbbed in his throat. “You mean the lights on the bridge?”
“Yes. It looks likes a fancy necklace across the river. When did they build the bridge?”
“Years ago. It’s called the Hernando de Soto Bridge, named for the explorer.” She must have been away from Memphis for quite some time, not to know about the bridge.
Without warning, the lights blinked out.
“What happened? They were lovely.”
He searched the river. “Do you see that light, against the Arkansas bank?”
She followed where he pointed and nodded.
“That’s a barge tow. The bridge lights cause a glare on the water, so southbound boats can turn them off until the barge is past the bridge. Then, the lights come back on. They can do it electronically, two and a half miles upriver, where Wolf River enters the Mississippi, or where that boat is now, by shining a spotlight at a sensor on the bridge.”
“‘Electronically.’ What an intriguing word. You seem to know a lot about these things.”
“I love the river.”
“So do I. I envy it.”
“How?”
“It travels where it wishes, hundreds of miles, wandering, seeing new places, different people. I wish I could go with it.”
“Where would you like to go?”
Her eyes gleamed with excitement. “Anywhere—other than New Orleans. I’d really love to see San Francisco. Afterward, I would close my eyes, turn in a full circle with my arms outstretched and go wherever I might be pointing when I opened my eyes again. I’d love to see the whole world.” She looked away, embarrassed. “You probably think me silly.”
“Not at all. I love to travel.”
She focused on him with renewed enthusiasm. “Where have you been?”
“All over the United States and Canada. Not much abroad, but I’ve always wanted to go.” She clearly envied him. “Do you work somewhere?”
Her expression hardened, eyes blazing with anger. “Certainly not.”
He rushed to apologize. “I didn’t mean to offend you.” He would have to be more careful. The fact she was attending a dance on a riverboat, dressed completely in black as though in mourning, and insulted by the suggestion that she might actually work, meant something. Although, he could not decide exactly what.
She backed away. “I have to go now.” Pulling the veil around her head, she clutched it beneath her chin.
“No, don’t!”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I mean, you can’t leave so soon. We’ve just met. How will I see you again? May I call you?”
She considered a moment. “You may call on me if you wish. I’ll be living with my father now and Aunt Portia. My father is Jacob Morgan of Morgan Enterprises. I’m sure you’ve heard of him.”
David knew no one by that name and had never heard of Morgan Enterprises. Saying so might offend her. He’d have to guide the conversation and gain more information about Jacob Morgan. Maybe get her telephone number and address.
Lisette went down the stairs. David followed a step behind. Her perfume was intriguing, a fragrance he didn’t recognize, something entirely natural and completely feminine. “May I ask the name of the perfume you’re wearing?”
She hesitated, then smiled. “Lemon verbena
“Very much.” He’d find it, buy a gallon and have it sent to the Morgan home. “Would you like to dance?”
“It wouldn’t be proper. Perhaps another time.”
When she reached the landing, she hesitated. He touched her arm briefly before reaching to open the door. For an instant, she trembled. If only they could talk longer, get to know each other better . . .
He opened the door, waited for her to step inside, then followed, pushed aside the fronds of a fern sitting beside the door and closed it securely. Judging from the brown tips on the fronds, not everyone had been as careful to avoid crushing them. When he turned around . . . she was gone. “Lisette!”
Marilu approached from the refreshment table, holding a cup of red punch. Everyone milled around, between dances. There was no sign of Lisette anywhere.
“Uncle David! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
“Did you see the woman who came in just ahead of me? Black dress. Long hair and a black veil.” He scanned the room again but there was still no sign of her.
“Black? How dismal. It looked like you came in alone.” Marilu straightened her pink-as-a-cloud ruffles. Her blond curls cascaded past her shoulders like silk.
“Do you think anyone is ever going to ask me to dance?”
“How could any young man resist you?” He took her hand and squeezed her fingers. If he were also fifteen, he would monopolize every dance.
“You look so handsome tonight in your tux.” Her grin was impish. “You said you were thinking of cutting your hair and shaving your beard. I’m glad you didn’t. You look more old-fashioned with longer hair. Perfect for this dance.”
“I’m glad you approve.” She was teasing, he knew. She’d always liked his hair collar-length and his beard neatly trimmed. She thought it made him look distinguished. He sometimes cut his hair and got rid of the beard during the summer. His older brother Joe—Marilu’s father—thought it made him look younger. At thirty-five he was just beginning to give that consideration some thought. Fran had preferred him without the beard. Every time he thought about shaving it, he saw Fran’s face in the mirror, heard her laughter. In time, maybe he’d be able to shave it. But not yet.
A five-piece orchestra on the port side of the room played modern easy-rock selections as well as classic favorites. The room had been decorated to resemble its late nineteenth century counterpart, even though the ballrooms of the truly palatial riverboats would have been much larger, with chandeliers and grand staircases. Servers in black tuxedos threaded their way through the dancers with trays of canapés and sparkling white grape juice in champagne glasses. Pink and white flowers, floating in crystal bowls of tinted water, scented the room as the water swayed gently with the movement of the boat.
David had been glad to escort Marilu when Joe couldn’t attend the important function. A photographer elbowed his way past, around the perimeter of the dance floor, snapping pictures of dancing couples for The Commercial Appeal. If Marilu didn’t dance soon, she might be overlooked and miss the opportunity to have her picture in the newspaper tomorrow. David couldn’t let that happen.
“May I have this dance?” Her fingers, long and graceful, nails polished to the same hue as her dress, felt cool in his hand. Debutantes once wore gloves, but that custom seemed to have been abandoned. Fran had worn gloves even though the fashion had passed. She liked the gentility of quieter, more peaceful times.
A tap on his shoulder interrupted the waltz.
“May I cut in?”
The young man was dressed in tuxedo pants with a white dinner jacket. A pink rose decorated the lapel. His dark hair shone with careful grooming. His eyes never left Marilu’s face.
Watching them waltz away, David envied them. They were young and full of hope and expectation.
He’d been full of hope at fifteen, too. His dream to become a doctor had been realized when he graduated from the University of Tennessee with honors. Then he met Fran during his first year of residency at the Memphis Medical Center. She was assistant director in the Medical Records department. Her notes to David in files that lacked certain forms or signatures began professionally enough, but when she’d written, “How about signing these over dinner tonight? My place. Eight o’clock,” he’d rushed through afternoon rounds so he could get home, shower, dress, and arrive on her doorstep fifteen minutes early, wearing the best clothes he could afford as a resident.
She was everything he had ever wanted.
They had dinner that night, then went dancing on the weekend. He waltzed her into his heart, almost without trying. They were married. A year later, Alyssa was born, making their family complete. After the accident, when they’d both been tragically torn away, David couldn’t heal. Even five years later, he felt wounded and tender when thoughts of them surfaced.
Marilu and her dance partner approached. She had a sappy look on her face.
“Phillip Warner, I’d like you to meet my uncle, Doctor David Stewart. Phillip has just moved to Germantown from Midtown. He lives only a few blocks from us. He’ll be going to my high school.”
David shook hands with Phillip, noting a similar sappy expression on his face. “Have you ridden the Memphis Queen III before?”
“No, sir. My family has lived in Memphis forever, but we’ve never ridden the riverboats. I’ll have to tell everyone how much fun it is.”
It was unfortunately true that many Memphis residents were never involved with the river or the part of Memphis that depended on the river. Memphis had become an “edge” city—most of its citizens living around the perimeter in the suburbs instead of in the interior. Joe had been urging David to move to Germantown for months. It was tempting, but he liked Midtown. Fran had loved it there.
He excused himself. Marilu and Phillip went toward the refreshment table. Lisette had to be among the crowd somewhere. A woman didn’t get off a riverboat in the middle of a cruise. Not easily, anyway. And she had to be the only woman dressed entirely in black.
After searching every inch of the boat, he was forced to admit she simply wasn’t there. How could she vanish?
Someone might recognize Jacob Morgan’s name. He questioned each of the chaperons, the crew and musicians. The General Manager of the Memphis Queen Riverboat Line, a good friend of David’s, was on board. The crew had lured him onto this cruise, then surprised him with a cake covered in candles, and a new cap to replace the one he’d been wearing for at least the last six months. David wished him Happy Birthday. He grinned his usual “Can you believe it?” grin, then checked the passenger list. Neither Jacob nor Lisette Morgan was listed. He had lived in Memphis all his life but was completely unfamiliar with Jacob Morgan or his daughter. He did remember reading about a company called Morgan Enterprises while at the University of Memphis, but that was in a history course. David thanked him for his help and let him get back to the party.
Even though it seemed pointless, he watched for Lisette the remainder of the evening. She never reappeared.
At midnight, when the Queen III docked and everyone prepared to disembark, Marilu and Phillip approached David with dreamy expressions. He knew without asking that Marilu was “in love.”
“Uncle David, Phillip has something to ask you.”
“Sir, I would appreciate the opportunity to drive Marilu home this evening.” He flexed his fingers repeatedly, shifting weight from one foot to the other, digging at his tight collar.
David remembered being that nervous once. And that speech! Did kids even think in such terms as “appreciate the opportunity” any more? Phillip was trying awfully hard. And it would save a lot of time, not having to take Marilu all the way to Germantown.
“I think that would be all right.” David glanced at his watch. “Have her home by one o’clock.”
Phillip grinned and released a big sigh. “Thank you, Sir. She won’t be late. I promise.”
“Thanks, Uncle David.” Marilu rose on tiptoes to kiss his cheek, whispering, “Dad would never have said I could.”
She left so quickly he could only stammer, “Wait! Maybe I should . . . Marilu!” Damn. Joe would probably have his head for this.
